


Doesn't Mean I'm Lost

by ZapBadger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Recovery, TW: Strokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZapBadger/pseuds/ZapBadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg suffers from a stroke which leaves his responses broken, how will Mycroft cope with the repercussions of the incident?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doesn't Mean I'm Lost

“Give them to me.”  
“No.” Mycroft sighed in exasperation, running his hand through his hair, pulling it in various directions.  
“Gregory, you’d promised you’d stop.” He shrugged and continued to puff on his cigarette, blowing smoke out of the open back door.  
“Yeah, well, tough day at work.” Greg muttered, unable to look up at his husband. Mycroft had proposed seven months ago, after being together for a further four years. They’d got married two months ago, a small ceremony in Mycroft’s family home’s garden, and been away for a month in Egypt as their honeymoon. Greg had been trying his hardest to give up smoking for more years than he’d known Mycroft, trying patches, gum and an electric cigarette that Mycroft had suggested (He’s thrown it away after one try; he’d felt physically sick using it). But some days, the stresses of work would get to him and he needed them. Normally he’d be able to sneak in a few before Mycroft got home or he’d have some in the car on the way home (He couldn’t smoke at the Yard seeing as Sally was determined to help him quit too) and have a shower straight away when he got in, but his efforts were fruitless. Mycroft wasn’t an idiot, far from it in fact. He could tell every time Greg broke his promise but kept his tongue. Greg was an honest man, and he knew that if he had there was a valid reason behind it, but it didn’t stop the politician worrying. And it didn’t help when he saw Greg’s hand wander to his forehead and rub it, obviously trying to alleviate the headache the cigarettes were now causing him.  
“Why don’t you talk to me about it instead?” Mycroft offered, but Greg only swivelled slightly to give him a glare.  
“What, like you do? Oh wait, you tell me bugger all about your work.” He seethed, Mycroft narrowing his eyes.  
“You know very well I can’t tell you anything.”  
“You could tell me without revealing anything important.” Greg scowled and turned to blow another plume into the night air. He was right, and Mycroft inwardly cursed, but continued to make his argument.  
“I can’t Gregory, it’s-“  
“Under the super duper top secrets act of God knows when, yes I know.” He drawled sarcastically, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette, gritting his teeth as he felt his headache flare up again; Mycroft guessed that was why he was so irritable. He decided to take a different approach.  
“Please Gregory, I can tell it’s giving you headaches again.” Greg stiffened slightly, taking a few more puffs before replying.   
“So what if it is? It’s my life.” He growled, starting to get agitated. Greg knew Mycroft would’ve responded like this.  
“I think it’s a clear sign for you to stop.” The politician approached Greg slowly and held out his hand again, trying to avoid the row he could feel coming on. “Please.” He repeated, pleading with his eyes, trying to convey his concern in them. Greg caught his gaze for a moment before sighing, pulling out the packet and pressing them to Mycroft’s hand.   
“Fine.” He mumbled with minor difficultly, throwing the remnants of his current cigarette outside the door and stomping on them before following Mycroft through to the living room, becoming increasingly aware of the numbness rubbing up his left leg.  
“Greg, I’m only trying to-“ Mycroft turned to face him and was cut off when he saw Greg gripping the doorframe with one hand, struggling to support his weight, half of him looking terrified, the other half completely void of any movement. Fear gripped Mycroft and he rushed over to Greg, looping an arm around his waist and helping him limp to the sofa. The older man groaned softly, and Mycroft thought he might have been speaking, but it was merely incoherent babbling. “It’s okay love, you’ll be okay.” Shaking, Mycroft pressed a kiss to Greg’s head and fumbled with his pockets, retrieving his phone and dialling 999, trying and failing to keep the panic out of his voice.  
“Hello, I need an ambulance. I think my husband’s having a stroke.”

***

Not for the first time, Mycroft was extremely grateful for his high up status. The paramedics were there within twenty minutes and Greg was at the nearest hospital in the next ten. The politician paced up and down the waiting room silently. The hospital had suggested that he phoned a family member to come and wait with him, but Mummy was away with Aunt Alexandra in South Africa which only left Sherlock… And well, Sherlock wasn’t the sort of person you’d turn to for comfort.   
Thankfully, Mycroft didn’t have to wait long before a short blonde doctor approached him.  
“Mr Holmes?”  
“Yes, is he alright?” He towered over the doctor, giving him a stare that implied ‘he’d better be or you’ll never work again’. The now intimidated doctor swallowed and backed up slightly.   
“Uh, yes, he will live, we ran some tests and he doesn’t require neurosurgery, but he will be under thrombolysis for the next two days.” Mycroft nodded, glancing over the doctor down a corridor.   
“When can I see him?”   
“I’m afraid-“ He was cut off as an ID was flashed in front of him and he jumped slightly.  
“Of course, this way.” The doctor turned and strode down the corridor, Mycroft keeping up easily with his far longer legs. He led them both down a few different routes before stopping in front of a private room and addressing Mycroft.  
“Mr Holmes, even though we have contained the hemorrhage, your husband will have difficulties functioning when the treatment is over. He will need to stay for physiotherapy, and require aid at home. Despite how quickly we managed to get him in, severe damage has already been caused to the right side of his brain.” Mycroft looked at the man and nodded slowly.  
“Thank you, for all your help.” The doctor nodded and shook the politicians hand before stepping aside to let him in. “Press the call button if you require anything. I’m afraid he’s in a drug induced coma until the thrombolysis is complete, but feel free to stay as long as you wish.” He smiled apologetically before walking away and out of sight.  
The elder Holmes took a second to brace himself before pushing open the door. His eyes immediately landed on Greg and he sighed. Mycroft had imagined life support machines and various instruments to keep him alive. But Greg only had an intravenous drip implanted into his wrist, and a catheter strapped to his nose for an oxygen supply. Mycroft closed the door behind him and shuffled over the chair beside Greg, enclosing his free hand with both of his and bringing it up to his lips.  
“Gregory…” He muttered weakly, closing his eyes and wiping away the stray tear running down his cheek. “I’m sorry.” Mycroft settled into the chair beside the bed, lacing his fingers with Greg’s, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. “I love you.”

***

Mycroft spent the time that he wasn’t at work at the hospital, only going back when Anthea told him that he needed to take a shower (Normally he wouldn’t have stood for her behaviour, but she made a very valid point). On the third morning Greg woke up, eyes opening lazily and dragging around the room, leaning his head up as they landed on the sleeping form of Mycroft beside him.  
“Mmmfot” He tried to pull his face into a frown, the left side of his face responding inefficiently, his face falling into a lopsided array. At the sound, Mycroft stirred slightly, instinctively groping for the DI’s hand again, his eyes flickering open when he felt it squeeze back.   
“Gregory.” He sighed in relief, taking in the look of confusion on the working side of Greg’s face and leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to his head. “Shh, it’s okay love.” He went to speak again but only a jumbled mutter came out and Mycroft bit his lip, threading his fingers through his hair. “You’ve lost use of the left side of your body. They’re going to put you through physiotherapy for four weeks before you can come home.” Greg gave him a look of understanding, not even bothering to speak before resting his head back on the pillow. “I-“ Mycroft’s phone began ranging shrilly and he sighed in annoyance before answering. “Holmes.” He stood and paced the room, listening to the voice on the other end; presumably Anthea. “Can’t it wait?” He threw a glance at Greg and nodded. “Send a car, I’ll be there in half an hour.” Mycroft snapped the phone shut and walked back over to Greg, pressing the call button beside him before pressing his lips to his gently. He smiled when he felt Greg try to reciprocate, before pulling back and stroking his cheek. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.” And with that, he stood up straight, smoothed out his suit and walked out the room, glancing over his shoulder as two nurses bustled in to tend to the now awake Greg.

***

After two days full of work he’d been just about ready to go back to hospital, but Anthea had made him get some sleep in his own bed, claiming that sleeping in a chair wasn’t doing his back any good and he wouldn’t be any use to Greg when he couldn’t move himself. Thankfully, she’d cancelled all of his appointments the next morning so he could stay with Greg until early afternoon.  
When Mycroft got to the private room allocated to Greg, he adjusted the flowers he had in hand (Daisies, Greg’s favourite) before pushing open the door.   
“Gregory, I-“ He froze when he saw the bed was empty, looking around the room for any signs of the other man. “Greg?” He set down the flowers on the table beside the bed, calling for him again as he poked his head around the bathroom door.  
“Mr Holmes?” Mycroft swivelled, appraising the nurse who’d just poked her head in the door, wondering what the commotion was for. Mid twenties, relatively new to the job, just moved in with her boyfriend.  
“I’m looking for my husband, he was in here…” She shook her head and indicated down the corridor.  
“Follow me if you’d please.” Smiling, she turned on her heel and led Mycroft down a few corridors and a flight of stairs, gesturing to the window giving a view into the room.   
“In there?” She nodded and bowed her head slightly before taking her leave.  
“Thank you!” Mycroft called, before stepping up to the window and looking in, bursting into a grin as he did.   
A nurse had Greg sat down in a chair, healthy arm strapped to the seat, helping him to regain the use of his other. He chuckled softly as he saw the DI roll his eyes at something the nurse had said, catching Greg’s attention and he grinned in return at Mycroft, his facial reflexes already looking much sharper. He struggled, but managed a tiny wave, which made Mycroft’s grin practically glowing. The nurse noticed and looked up at the politician, turning to Greg and speaking to him before indicating for Mycroft to come inside the room.  
“Myc!” Greg cried excitedly as Mycroft silently closed the door behind him, smiling at the boyish grin on Greg’s face. He raised an eyebrow when the man tried to cross his arms, failing due to the limited use in one and the other one being strapped down. “You said you wouldn’t be gone long.”  
“I had work, I’m sorry love.” There was a mild slur still in Greg’s voice Mycroft noticed, walking over and kissing him gently. “You look so much better.” He murmured with pride on his face.   
“Still can’t walk though, but Jeremy” He indicated to the nurse. “Said I’m recovering quickly. Probably from all the running about I have to do as a Detective.” He chuckled softly and Mycroft crouched beside him as Jeremy turned to him.   
“You must be Greg’s husband.” He nodded and shook his hand.  
“Mycroft Holmes.”  
“I’ll be doing his cardio-therapy for the next four weeks. I take it you’ll be in charge of caring for his well being when he goes home.”  
“I will.”  
“Come here then.” Jeremy shuffled out of the way, Mycroft taking the hint and shifting into position where he was. “We’ll teach Greg all the exercises he’ll need to do, but you’ll need a little experience to help him around the house; he’ll have forgotten quite a lot of day to day tasks.” Mycroft nodded and Jeremy pointed out two spots underneath Greg’s upper and lower arm. “Support him there… That’s it, how do you feel Greg?”   
“Fine.” He flexed his fingers softly, stroking one over Mycroft’s cheek, beaming at him.   
“I want you to try and contract your arm. Mr Holmes if you could aid him if he needs it…”  
“Of course.” He readied himself as Jeremy counted to 3 and Greg grunted, managing to shift his arm slightly.   
“Come on love, I know you can do it.” Mycroft smiled and squeezed gently, and Greg closed his eyes, focusing and trying again, improving the result slightly.  
“Excellent.” Jeremy grinned and Mycroft pressed a kiss to the DI’s palm. “I sometimes find involving a family member or a close friend increases the recovery process.”  
“Makes sense” Greg nodded, flexing his arm marginally again.  
“Shall we try again?”  
“Yes please.” Mycroft chuckled softly, making Greg arch an eyebrow.  
“What?”  
“Nothing, just… I love you.” Mycroft leant up, brushing lips against Greg’s again.  
“I love you too.” 

***

A few hours later Mycroft was called away and wheeled Greg back to his room with Jeremy before saying goodbye and heading back off to work. Fortunately, Greg was now well enough to text him and keep him updated with how his recovery was coming along, seeing as Mycroft couldn’t be there all the time.   
He was in the middle of a meeting the next morning with the PM and various MPs when he received his first text from him.

The worst part of this is I lost my wanking hand you do realise. 

Mycroft had to bite his lip to contain the smirk threatening to bubble up before texting back discreetly.

Honestly Gregory, we need to have a discussion about your priorities. –Mycroft

Well it’s not like I can ask Jeremy for his help when I have a morning glory. 

Oh, and what do you want me to do about it? –Mycroft

What’s the term, ‘lend me a hand’ ;)

Mycroft visibly rolled his eyes, garnering the attention from Anthea beside him who scowled when she saw his phone, but made no attempt to confiscate it. The meeting was beginning to drag and he chuckled under his breath as she fished out her own phone out and began playing Snake.

Behave, I’m in a meeting with the Prime Minister. –Mycroft

You always complain about those anyway, can’t you come to the hospital and toss me off? 

Firstly, I cannot leave the meeting and secondly, I am NOT ‘tossing you off’ in a hospital. –Mycroft

Why not? :( 

Because it’s a HOSPITAL Gregory. Where people are ill. –Mycroft

… Maybe later then? ;D 

Mycroft rubbed his hand over his eyes, shaking his head slightly. The man was insufferable when he wanted to be.

Use your other hand. –Mycroft

But it’s not the same.

Well I suggest you ask Jeremy then, who has never had a homosexual tendency in his life. –Mycroft

Bugger.

“Mycroft?” He looked up at who was addressing him, pocketing his phone.  
“Yes Malcolm?”   
“What is your input?” He sighed, recalling what he could remember before rallying off what needed to be done. Glancing at his watch he groaned under his breath. Only half way through. As Greg had put it, bugger.

***

Two weeks later, Jeremy was satisfied with the regained strength in Greg’s arm and had begun work on his leg. On the fifth day, Mycroft watched as he helped him onto the treadmill, supporting his waist, Greg using the bars either side to hold himself upright.  
“So this is why you worked on his arm first?” Jeremy nodded, keeping his focus on helping Greg bend his leg.  
“Yeah, otherwise it’s a nightmare trying to keep him upright. Even as it is we’ll probably supply you with crutches just to be certain.”  
“You still haven’t told me how long it’ll be before I can get back to work.” Jeremy started working with Greg’s ankle, thinking about the question.  
“Well, maybe a month or two of home integration and you should be fine to work, but you’ll still have a few difficulties. I assume Scotland Yard would be aware of them anyway.”  
“I’ll probably have to take my driving test again, won’t I?”  
“Afraid so.” Greg shrugged.  
“Doesn’t matter. Was probably due for one anyway.” He glanced at Mycroft and raised an eyebrow when he saw him giggling. “Oi Suits, what’s that for?” Mycroft smirked at the nickname and lounged back in his chair.   
“Oh nothing, it just seems you’re forgetting who I am Gregory.” He frowned for a moment before realisation hit.  
“OH, oh of course.” He chuckled, reciprocating Mycroft’s grin. “Thank you love.”  
“Would you two stop nattering and let Greg get on?” Jeremy piped up, making both of the other men look relatively sheepish.   
“Sorry.” They chimed, and Jeremy started giving Greg directions on what to do, Mycroft bringing his chair closer to watch with interest as his husband struggled to shift his leg.  
“Unfortunately, we can’t use the last method on his leg, so it may take a bit longer, but that’ll be where the crutches come in useful. He’ll be able to at least limp around by the time he leaves.” He said, cupping his hand around Greg’s knee and taking his ankle into hand, encouraging him to put weight on it. “Is that okay?”  
“Yeah, fine.”  
“Mycroft, if you would…” Jeremy gestured to the controls on the treadmill. “Only half a mile an hour, and be ready in case we need to turn it off.” The politician nodded and moved so he was directly in front of Greg, placing a hand over his and squeezing it.  
“Ready?”   
“Always” His lips curved, eyes twinkling as Mycroft eased up the setting, the belt shuddering into action. Instinctively Greg stepped forward with his good foot, struggling with the other.   
“Come on Greg, you’ve almost got it.” Jeremy urged, helping him lift the foot from the belt, Greg managing to land it clumsily in front of him.  
“Sorry, it’s a bit different to doing it in my own time.” He muttered, exerting his energy and forcing his feet along unsteadily, upper arm muscles bunched under his shirt with the effort of holding himself up.  
After five minutes of the exercise he was panting and Mycroft cut off the machine.   
“Well done love.” He grinned, leaning in and kissing Greg’s nose, wrinkling his when sweat dripped onto it. Greg giggled at the sight, shakily getting off the treadmill with Jeremy’s help.   
“I’ll leave you two alone for a bit and we’ll try again soon, yeah?” The DI nodded, hobbling over to the table and grabbing his half-empty glass of water and downing it as the nurse left. Mycroft’s arms found their way around his waist and he sighed happily.   
“I don’t need help every second of every day Myc.” He arched his neck to wink at the younger man.  
“Still.” Mycroft mumbled, leaning in to kiss him softly. Pulling back, he chuckled at the pout on Greg’s face. “What?”  
“I wasn’t done.” He huffed, turning in Mycroft’s arm to face him fully before pressing his lips back to his, tentatively letting go of the counter to wind his arms around Mycroft’s neck. The arms around his waist tightened and Greg smirked, grazing his teeth over Mycroft’s top lip, making the other man shudder involuntarily. Tilting his head, he pushed his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth, trailing it over his and eliciting a small groan.  
“Remember what I said about lending me a hand?” Greg pulled back and muttered into Mycroft’s ear, scowling when the younger man instead pulled away completely, only holding onto Greg’s waist to support him.  
“No.”  
“But it’s been ages!” Greg whined, fully aware he sounded like a five year old that couldn’t have a new toy.  
“Then you can wait a bit longer. It’s only just over a week left.” Mycroft spoke sternly, but gave him an apologetic look.  
“Still too long.” Greg grumbled, pulling himself out of Mycroft’s grip and slumping down in the nearest chair.  
“I’m sorry sweetheart, but I promise when we get you home.” He crouched down by Greg’s chair, pressing a light kiss to his temple.   
“Yeah. Sorry Myc.”  
“It’s quite alright Gregory. One of us has to exercise control eh?” Mycroft chuckled softly, winding his arm around Greg’s shoulders, looking up as Jeremy came back in.  
“Ready?” He asked, looking between them both and smiling.  
“Ready.”

***

“Careful now…”  
“Oh come off it, I’m fine.” Greg rolled his eyes, nudging Mycroft out of the way with his crutches and propelling himself into the house, stopping beside the wall and leaning on it as he shrugged off his coat and hung it up.  
“Well, I still have to look after you.” Mycroft muttered, stalking in the direction of the kitchen, Greg following him.  
“You can’t be serious, you’re at work most of the bloody time.”  
“I’ve made… arrangements which mean I’ll be working from home.”  
“Really?” Greg asked, incredulous. “I know how much you love work-“  
“Turns out there’s something I love more.” He muttered, turning and looping his arms around Greg. “Welcome home love.”  
“Missed you too.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to Mycroft’s hair, unable to reciprocate the hug.  
“Coffee?” Mycroft offered, pulling back and making his way to the kettle.   
“Y’know what I really fancy after a month of hospital food?” Mycroft glanced over him and nodded.  
“I’ll order in then.” He skipped past the kettle and instead went to the fridge, instead grabbing a beer and uncapping it, ushering Greg to sit down in the living room before handing it to him.   
“Thank you.” He squeezed Mycroft’s wrist and tugged him in for a soft kiss, lingering until Mycroft pulled back to grab his mobile and order the Chinese food that Greg was after. The bottle confused him for a second before he placed his lips over the top and sucked it down, swallowing and grinning. “At least I can still drink beer.” He muttered to no-one in particular as Mycroft paced the living room, talking on the phone.

***

“Uh…” Greg looked sheepish as he watched Mycroft change into his pyjamas, his own spread neatly on the bed.  
“Gregory?” Mycroft raised his eyebrow in question, pulling up his trousers and setting down the shirt, worry flitting into his eyes. “Are you alright?”   
“Yeah, it’s just, um…” He couldn’t quite get the words out and Mycroft looked between him and clothes.  
“Do you want a hand?”   
“Yes please.” Greg mumbled. “But the thing was, I wanted a bath and I don’t know if I can…”  
“It’s fine.” Mycroft waked over to him and smoothed his hand down his arms. “Really love.” He kissed Greg’s mop of grey hair and looped an arm around his waist, helping him into the bathroom (He’d left the crutches by the wardrobe, assuming they wouldn’t do him much good when he was asleep). “How hot do you want it?”  
“What you usually do, you know I’m not a bath person.” Greg grumbled, rubbing his shoulder, giving the shower a look of longing as his husband began to run his bath.  
“You don’t mind them when I’m in them.” Mycroft said, surprised.  
“I wonder why.” He was rewarded with a light smack on his arse from Mycroft and he jumped slightly.  
“Oi! What was that for??” Greg narrowed his eyes at Mycroft, trying to rub away the mild stinging sensation.  
“For being sarcastic.” He gave the politician a look of mock horror.  
“I never!” Mycroft rolled his eyes, shutting off the water and testing the temperature. “I am not a child, and I can tell you if it’s too bloody hot or cold.” Greg staggered closer to the bath and dipped his forearm in, pausing for a moment before widening his eyes dramatically and yanking it out. “Jesus shit that’s hot!”  
“Told you so.” Mycroft sniggered, leaning back when he saw the wild look in Greg’s eye.  
“Don’t be a smartarse” He leant over and flicked on the cold tap, Mycroft fishing a bottle of bubble bath from the cupboard and poured some in alongside it, making Greg groan. “Not that stuff again.”  
“Too late now.” Mycroft grinned, turning off the tap and testing the water before Greg could complain. “C’mere.” The DI shuffled over and Mycroft carefully unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it on the floor before bending down to take off his trousers.  
“Possibly the least sexy way to take someone’s clothes off ever…”  
“Sorry?” Mycroft looked up at him, tugging down his jeans and underwear in one go, Greg’s hands darting down to cover himself. “Nothing at all, but you could warn me next time.”  
“Apologies Gregory, I forgot that you now look so much different than the last time I saw you naked- What was that for??” He flinched as Greg swatted his shoulder.  
“Who’s the sarcastic one now?”   
“Be quiet and step out of these.” He grumbled, helping Greg sit on the edge of the bath and wriggling his clothes free and pulling off his socks.  
“Right…” Mycroft wound his arms around Greg again, using his wiry strength to lower him carefully into the bath.  
“Ahh, be gentle Myc, oooh ah! That’s still a bit hot…” Greg gasped as he sunk into the water, groaning and shutting his eyes as he let it envelope his entire body save for his head.  
“Good?” Mycroft smirked knowingly.  
“Oh yes.” He didn’t even bother to argue as the water flowed over him, relaxing his muscles and taking away some of the strain of the past month. He cracked open an eye and looked at Mycroft.  
“Not getting in with me?” He shook his head and Greg huffed.  
“I had a shower earlier. Besides, I’m meant to be helping you.”  
“You could give me a backrub.” He grinned cheekily and Mycroft sighed in defeat.  
“Fine- Hang on I did not deserve that!” Mycroft scowled, wiping the bubbles off his stomach.  
“I didn’t like your attitude.” Greg giggled, the politician trying to keep an annoyed look and failing, bursting into laughter along with the older man.  
“Alright, alright.” He shifted to kneel behind the bath, grabbing Greg under the shoulders and dragging him into a sitting position before rubbing his hands down his back, finding the knots in the muscles and using his fingers to knead them out. Greg’s head fell forward and he moaned with pleasure.  
“Thank you My- oh God, there again.” He muttered when Mycroft hit a particular twinge in his back, and took to massaging the affected area thoroughly. “Those hospital beds are nasty pieces of work.”  
“I’ll make a note.”  
“Mycroft, you are not going to make hospital’s have nicer beds are you?” Greg asked, disbelief in his voice.  
“No of course not.”   
“Good.”  
“Just for people I care about.”  
“Mycroft!”  
“What?” Looking over his shoulder, Greg gave him a scolding look.  
“You can’t do that.”  
“Can and will.” Greg sighed and Mycroft pulled his hands away.  
“Did I say stop?”  
“Sorry.” Mycroft mumbled, working his way back up Greg’s shoulder blades, who settled back in, closing his eyes.  
“S’fine.” Greg chuckled, arching towards Mycroft’s hands and relaxing. A moment later his eyes snapped open again and he swallowed. “Uh, My, we have a situation…”  
“What- Oh.” Mycroft glanced over Greg’s shoulder and smirked when he saw his cock bobbing against his stomach, aching for attention.  
“You started it, you finish it.” Greg muttered, looking back at Mycroft, matching his smirk.   
“I’m not finished on your back yet.”  
“I don’t bloody care you’d better get some part of your body wrapped around my cock or so help you…” His sentence trailed off into a gasp as Mycroft granted his wish, wrapping his hand loosely around the base of his prick and fisting him slowly.  
“Better?” He grinned wickedly as Greg’s head thumped back against the side of the bath.  
“Oh good God yes.” Greg breathing, bucking lightly up into Mycroft’s hand, who chuckled softly, before leaning in and pressing kisses down Greg’s now exposed neck, thankful for the lack of a restricting shirt.  
“I did promise you after all Gregory…” He smirked, dragging teeth over the older man’s Adam’s apple, eliciting a variety of curses from him. “And I’m not one to go back on my promises.” Mycroft murmured against his skin, tightening his grip on Greg’s cock, chuckling darkly when he caught a gasp from the DI.   
“Jesus fuck Myc…” Greg bucked up again, harder this time and hissed through gritted teeth as Mycroft made a point to drag his thumb over his slit.  
“Tell me, did you toss yourself off in the hospital?” Mycroft muttered huskily into his ear and Greg felt more blood rush south; more than he thought possible.  
“Ngghh, yes, fuck, yes.”  
“What did you think about?”  
“Y-you.” Mycroft smirked, teasing Greg’s earlobe with his teeth in the exact way he knew he loved.  
“What was I doing?” He started to fist Greg faster, water splashing up his arm, and it took a moment for Greg to respond.  
“Riding me…” He gasped out, breathing becoming ragged.  
“Did you have any fingers inside yourself Gregory?” Close to being incoherent, Greg merely nodded, hips canting up in time with Mycroft’s hand. “How many?”  
“T-two, shitshitshityeess.” He babbled, arching his back, mouth falling open. “Jesus I’m close.” His hands gripped the sides of the bath tightly, knuckles turning white as Mycroft pumped his cock as fast as he could given the angle.  
“Come all over yourself Gregory, just like you did then…” The silver-haired man cried Mycroft’s name and jerked up a final time, spurting his seed over his husband’s hand and falling back against the bath, spent. His breath came in pants as he dragged his gaze lazily to Mycroft, who was now using a cloth to wash his hand and then Greg.  
“Thank y-“ Mycroft cut him off by pressing his lips lovingly to his, beaming.   
“Don’t mention it love.” He said as he pulled back, cleaning the rest of Greg. “Ready to get out?” Mycroft asked, admiring his handiwork.  
“Yep.” Greg held out his arms and Mycroft took a hold of his waist, helping him stand up in the bath before winding a towel around him.   
“Alright?”  
“Stop worrying and help me get out.” Greg scowled and Mycroft supported him again, half-lifting him from the bath to the floor.   
“Ok-“  
“If you ask how I am one more bloody time I’ll drug you so you sleep for forty-eight hours.” Mycroft clamped his mouth shut and moved aside so Greg could hobble into the bedroom.  
“Thanks” He made his way to the bed and sat down on the edge, using the towel to dry himself the best he could before looking at Mycroft expectantly.  
“I’m not a dog you know.”  
“You still came when I wanted you to.” He smirked at the elder Holmes’ who merely shook his head and shifted Greg off the towel, drying the parts he couldn’t quite reach.   
“Stick your legs out.” Greg tried, only managing to get one half off the ground. The dejected look on his face cracked through Mycroft’s heart and he smiled sadly up at him as he lifted the leg higher, easing on Greg’s pyjama bottoms carefully. “It’ll be alright love, you just need time.” Mycroft stood and leaned in to kiss Greg sweetly, who glanced away.  
“I’m sorry you have to look after me.”  
“It’s not your fault Gregory, neither of us could have anticipated this.” He sat beside him and wound his arm around Greg, who lent his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.  
“No, I shouldn’t have been smoking. You were right, and I’m sorry.” He turned his gaze up to Mycroft who brought his hand to Greg’s cheek.   
“Sweetheart, I will always be here for you.” He murmured, before kissing him again and letting go, instead peeling back the covers on the other side of the bed for Greg to slip under.   
“Thanks.” Greg sunk into the mattress and sighed with relief, rubbing his eyes. The hospital beds really were shit compared to this. A smile grew on his face when he felt Mycroft slide in behind him and loop his arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.   
“I love you.” The older man yawned and closed his eyes, Mycroft’s breath tickling the back of his neck as he responded.   
“I love you too.” Mycroft squeezed him lightly, settling down and closing his eyes as well.  
Needless to say, it was the best night’s sleep either of them had had since the previous month.

***

Rolling over, Greg groaned in annoyance when he felt the space beside him vacant. “Myyc?” He called groggily, shifting onto his back and rubbing his eyes. After a moment of silence he fumbled with the sheets before peeling them away from him and carefully swinging his legs off the bed. Greg swallowed and tested his leg carefully on the floor before shakily getting to his feet, leg trembling as he waited a second before hobbling towards his crutches by the door. His balance wavered when he was a few feet away and he fell forward with a thump, bracing his arms against the floor to protect his face, grunting from the effort and mild pain.  
“Gregory?” He swore as he heard the worried voice of Mycroft call up the stairs, attempting to scrabble to his feet and failing, squeezing his eyes shut when he heard the other man reach the top of the stairs. He hated depending on Mycroft. He hated feeling so pathetic. Greg stiffened when he felt Mycroft’s arms enclose his waist, lifting him up. “I’m sorry, I sh-“  
“I was just saying good morning to the floor My, it’s fine.” He gave the politician a half-hearted smile, trying to veil the sadness lurking behind his eyes. Mycroft saw through it of course and sighed, helping Greg to his feet before fetching his crutches. “You don’t have to be my carer.” He grumbled, taking them gratefully.  
“Gregory, you can’t just do this alone-“  
“I still want to try.” Greg muttered, slotting his arms into the crutches and shifting past Mycroft before making his way to the stairs. The younger man ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head before following his husband, ready in case he slipped down the stairs. Thankfully he reached the bottom in one piece, limping over to the kitchen, gritting his teeth as he struggled to open the fridge.  
“Please.” Mycroft said from the doorway, holding up his hands. “Sit down and I’ll make you breakfast.” Greg glared at the fridge for a moment before closing his eyes and sighing dejectedly.  
“Fine.” He mumbled, settling into the nearest chair, resting his crutches against the bed beside him.  
“Gregory?” Mycroft wandered over, worry evident in his expression.  
“I’m fine.” He clasped his hands on the table in front of them, staring at them, emotionless. Mycroft could tell he was lying, but he didn’t push it further.  
“What do you want to eat?”  
“Whatever.” Greg muttered and his husband sighed again before prising open the fridge and pulling out a bottle of milk.  
“Cereal alright with you?”  
“Whatever.” The DI stated again, sitting back and absent-mindedly rubbing his leg, staring at the wall ahead of him. Mycroft threw him a sympathetic look before rummaging in the cupboard and retrieving a box of Greg’s Bran Flakes (Mycroft thought they were vile and quite frankly, didn’t understand what Greg loved so much about them). He hummed under his breath, pouring them into a bowl alongside the milk and setting it in front of his husband with a spoon, who glanced down at it and muttered his thanks before digging into it. Sitting opposite with his own breakfast of choice, Muesli, Mycroft watched Greg carefully as he ate. Of course, after the time in hospital he could eat properly, though Mycroft noticed the slightly awkward angle at which he held his spoon. He didn’t mention it, only smiled at Greg before slowly tucking into his own cereal.  
“How long have you been up then?” Greg swallowed his last bite and lent back in his chair, appraising Mycroft.  
“A few hours perhaps.” He shrugged and the DI took in his appearance; dressing gown slung on, hair still in a messy array, the bags under Mycroft eyes.  
“Mycroft…” Said Greg, in a warning tone.  
“Since three.” Mycroft muttered, looking down at his muesli, pushing it around the bowl.  
“Work called you, didn’t they?” The politician nodded in response, threading his fingers through his hair again for the thousand time this morning. “You could’ve gone in.”  
“No.” Mycroft’s gaze snapped up to meet Greg’s full of a mixture of worry and devotion. “I’m not leaving you alone until I’m sure you’re alright.”  
“I a-“  
“Would you have been able to get up from the floor this morning if I hadn’t been there to help?” Greg’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a response but he instead shut it, sighing heavily. “Exactly.” Mycroft got up from his chair, collecting the bowls from the table and popping them into the dishwasher, flicking the kettle on as he did so, barely avoiding the yawn he could feel coming on. It was now near enough nine in the morning, and he was exhausted.  
“Myc, why don’t you have a nap?” He shook his head, getting the mugs and instant coffee.  
“Still not done.”   
“I was going to watch telly anyway, come sit in the living room with me?” He smiled up at Mycroft hopefully, who smiled back and nodded.  
“Alright.”  
“Thank you.” Greg turned in his chair, slipping his hands into his crutches and using them to lift him onto his feet. “See? Not completely useless.” He chuckled, moving the chair aside and hopping out of the room, Mycroft following soon after with a coffee in each hand.

***

A few hours later, Greg was sprawled on the sofa, watching his boxset of Supernatural. Mycroft had put up a fight due to his dislike for the show (Or rather fear of all things paranormal that extended to distain of the programme), but Greg had pointed out that he was still recovering and should be able to watch what he liked and the fact that Mycroft would be working and not paying attention anyway. In fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything currently, as the politician had his head resting against Greg’s leg and was fast asleep. He’d giggled at the predicament and now found his eyes dragging to Mycroft every now and then. Greg loved how Mycroft looked when he slept; younger, happier and stress free. It was very rare to see him like this when he was awake (except perhaps when sex was involved).  
It was nearing two in the afternoon when Mycroft stirred, yawning and turning to press his face into Greg’s thigh.  
“Afternoon love”  
“Five more minutes…” He grumbled, pouting when Greg chuckled at him. “What’s so funny?” Mycroft pulled back and cracked open an eye at his husband, giving him half of a scowl when a hand reached down and ruffled his hair, making it messier than it already was.  
“Nothing at all.”   
“What time is it?”  
“About two.” Mycroft’s eyes snapped open and he slid away from Greg, looking disorientated for a moment before his gaze turned on his work.  
“Bollocks.” He muttered before shifting back towards the table and rearranging his papers. “Shit, shit, shit and more shit.” The DI gulped.  
“Mycroft-“  
“Why didn’t you wake me up!?” He turned on Greg, who flinched visibly, anger dissipating at the sight.  
“Because you needed the sleep love.”  
“I…”  
“Don’t worry love, you’ll be able to do it in enough time.” Greg lent forward and pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead. “I know you can.” He gave the elder Holmes a look of endearment and he beamed in response.  
“Thank you.” He murmured, before turning back to his work, Greg settling back down and looking back to the TV.

***

“Are you sure?”   
“Positive.” Greg lent on the one crutch he was now using, gesturing for Mycroft to come out of his study and help him. He nodded and shut his laptop, walking around the desk to Greg. It had been another month since Greg had come home and he felt he was ready to ditch the crutches and start walking around like a normal human being again.  
“But why the garden?” Mycroft followed his husband into the kitchen, casting his eyes out the window over the large expanse of garden that he did in fact own.   
“Because I haven’t been out around it in a while and I thought that it’d be a nice way to start.” He set down his crutch and raised his eye at Mycroft, who was wavering by the window still. “Don’t make me do this alone Myc.” Threatened Greg, limping over to the back door and unlocking it.  
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Mycroft grumbled, walking over and winding his arm around Greg’s waist to support him.  
“Good.” He lent up and pressed a kiss to the younger man’s cheek before slipping his own arm around Mycroft and making his way out of the door and down the mild slope that the garden had.  
The garden that they owned was huge, easily the size of a small field. It was nearing summer and flowers had sprouted all over, making it vibrant and colourful. Tree’s sprouted up randomly around it, except for a gathering of them by the bottom; a copse by the small stream that ran there. Neither of them had the time or skill to look after it, so Mycroft had a gardener visit once a week to keep it in what at least resembled good condition.  
“Y’know, this would be a brilliant place for kids to play.” Greg remarked as they made their way towards the copse, his strides becoming more confident the closer they got.   
“Is this the point where you tell me you’re pregnant Gregory?” Both men chuckled and Greg prodded Mycroft gently in the ribs.  
“You got me.” He joked, the arm around his waist tightening in a sign of affection.  
The cluster of trees at the bottom of the garden held a special place in both of their hearts; it was where they’d had their first meal at this house. It was where Mycroft had proposed and Greg had thrown himself at him and then proceeded to shag each other senseless until it became too cold to stay outside with a complete lack of clothes.  
They sat down by the oak tree in the middle, Mycroft propped up against the trunk, Greg happily nestled against him, slotting between his legs. Mycroft’s arms wound around the DI’s waist and his head fell back to rest on his shoulder, sighing contently. “Thank you.”  
“What for?” Mycroft eyed him curiously.  
“Bringing me down here.” He didn’t answer, merely pressed his lips to Greg’s temple and relaxed against the tree, closing his eyes and smiling as he felt his husband’s body melt into his.  
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the nearby stream, the birds in the trees above them and the other life around them, before Mycroft broke the silence.  
“What did you mean when you talked about kids Gregory?” He murmured softly, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere too much.  
“Doesn’t matter, I just thought…” He sighed. They’d never mentioned children before and Greg was sure that Mycroft would be adverse to the idea. He’d always wanted them, but his ex-wife had been unable to have kids, never mind off shagging a different man every other weekend.  
“Would you want children then?” Mycroft asked, turning his head to nuzzle Greg’s hair softly. He could still smell the shampoo from where he’d helped him shower again last night, this time ending with a rather satisfied Greg coming down his throat.  
“I… Uh…”  
“Because I’ve been thinking about that too.”  
“Really?” Greg swivelled slightly to give Mycroft a look of surprise, the politician cracking open his eyes lazily and drawing his lips into a smile.  
“Of course.”  
“I’d have thought that kids weren’t really your thing.”   
“There’s a lot of things about me that surprise you.”  
“That I won’t deny.” He chuckled and resumed his previous position.  
“Either way there’s no harm in looking.” Greg felt positively giddy, the grin on his face giving him away.  
“No, none at all.” Mycroft closed his eyes again and lent his head on Greg’s.  
“I love you.” He whispered, closing his eyes yet again, the serenity of the location sweeping over him.  
“I love you too.” One of Mycroft’s hands on Greg’s stomach shifted over, instead lacing his fingers with the hand above.  
Neither of them wanted to move, but unfortunately the weather had other ideas, forcing them inside a few hours later with a torrent of rain. Mycroft went back to work, and Greg lazed about in front of the TV, both of their minds slipping back to the conversation they’d had outside.

***

“No, you are not taking him out for a drink.”  
“Oh come off it Mycroft, he hasn’t left the house in God knows how long.”  
“Shouldn’t you be off caring for Sherlock?”  
“Sod off, he’s your brother not mine, I’m here to see my mate.” John scowled at Mycroft, trying to push past him into the house.  
“Let him in Myc, I could do with the company.” Greg called and John smirked triumphantly, as Mycroft narrowed his eyes, reluctantly allowing him entrance and closing the door behind him before slinking off back to his study.  
“God, Mycroft really is getting tetchy. I preferred him when he was ‘do as I say or I’ll make sure you’re never found’. Much more impressive.” Greg giggled, sitting up on the sofa.  
“Oi, that’s my husband you’re talking about.”  
“Could do worse, you could have Sherlock.” The DI shook his head.   
“I don’t know how you manage to live with him.”  
“I shag him, makes him much more tolerable.” Greg snorted into his tea.  
“Thankfully, that’s only an added bonus with Mycroft.” He muttered, wiping the droplets from his face. “Did you want a tea…?”  
“I’ll get it, don’t worry.” John stood up and Greg sighed, rubbing his head as he disappeared out of the room and into the kitchen. He snatched up the remote and paused the DVD (He was now onto Doctor Who series four; this was the point where he realised he had far too much spare time without work), waiting for John to come back.   
“Cheers.” He sat back down, blowing the steam from the top of his mug of tea.  
“How is the lovely Sherlock anyway?” Greg asked, draining the rest of his drink and setting down the mug.  
“Petulant as always. I take it Mycroft’s been taking good care of you?” He nodded and smiled. “You certainly look much better than the last time I saw you.”  
“Walking without the crutches now. Even if it is a bit shaky.”   
“That’s good.” John’s eyes travelled around the room and quirked an eyebrow at the TV. “Doctor Who?”  
“Yeah, I have too much free time without work.” He scrubbed his cheek with his hand.  
“When do you go back?” John took another sip of tea, eyeing Greg curiously.  
“Soon I think. Probably when I can actually walk near enough normally. Even then it’ll probably just be desk work.”  
“Can’t wait. Sherlock and Dimmock really don’t get on.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes.  
“That bad?”  
“Not as bad as him and Anderson, but still, not great.”  
“Well it is Sherlock, what do you expect?” John chuckled and nodded.  
“Good point mate.” Greg’s eyes wandered to the door and he frowned.  
“What were you and Myc arguing about anyway?”  
“Oh, I wanted to take you out for a drink. Apparently he doesn’t trust me to keep an eye on you, even if I am a qualified doctor.” He rolled his eyes and Greg giggled.  
“Sounds ‘bout right. Are you planning to sneak me out then?”  
“As much as I’d love to, I’d fear for mine and Sherlock’s safety if I did.”  
“Do you want me to talk to him?”  
“Nah, it’s fine. But when you go back to work I’m buying you a drink, deal?”  
“Deal.”

***

“Call me if you need anything, anything at all.”   
“I’ll be fine Myc.” The younger man looked on worried as Greg pulled on his coat, sliding along the backseat to climb out of the car.  
“Hang on.”  
“What?” He turned back and Mycroft captured his lips for a moment before pulling back.   
“Now you can go.” Grinning, Greg clambered out, waving as he shut the door and the car pulled away. He turned towards Scotland Yard and started towards the building, ignoring his phone as it chimed in his pocket. It had been three months since he’d left hospital and it was his first day back at work. As he walked through the desks towards his office, he hung his head, trying to ignore the gossip around that was clearly about him.  
“Sir?” Sally stepped into his office, addressing him as he sat down, readjusting his chair. Dimmock had taken over his position whilst he’d been away and he scowled at the disarray on his desk.  
“Yes?” He looked up, giving her a questioning look.  
“Welcome back.” Sighing in relief he relaxed into his chair.  
“It’s good to be back.” She smiled, clutching the folders closer to her chest before walking over and setting them on the desk.  
“We’d thought you wouldn’t want heavy work to start with so…”  
“Thank you Donovan, appreciated.” Greg gave her another smile and she backed away, indicating out of the door.  
“I’ll go get you a coffee.” She said kindly, before leaving him be. Greg got to work on rearranging his desk to the way he liked it, and Sally was back with his coffee by the time he started on the files. He smirked. A couple of cases through the previous months that they hadn’t been able to find any leads on. This was going to be fun.

***

“How was work?” Mycroft had hovered by Greg’s side ever since he’d got back, and when first pressed the question, Greg had replied with ‘in a minute’ which he’d thought would have got the elder Holmes out of his way for a bit, but he had no such luck. He fished a beer from the fridge and uncapped it, sipping from the bottle before stalking past Mycroft to the living room.   
“Didn’t you go to work today?”  
“Yes, but I made sure to be home for you.” Greg rolled his eyes and slumped on the sofa, grabbing the remote and switching on the TV, flicking through the channels and finding the news, leaving it on. Mycroft sat beside him. “How was work?” He asked again and Greg turned to him.  
“Good. I didn’t do anything strenuous, don’t worry.” The DI muttered into his bottle before taking another swig.  
“What did you do?”  
“A few cases those clots couldn’t do and didn’t want to call Sherlock in for.” Mycroft smiled, winding his arm around Greg’s waist.  
“Still got it then?”  
“I never lost it.” He turned to wink at his husband.   
“How was your drink with John?” Greg gave him a look of disbelief and shook his head.  
“How did you… never mind. It was fun, yeah.” He took another drink before speaking again. “He wanted me to stay out all night but I didn’t want to outdo myself.” Mycroft grimaced at the memory of the last time Greg and John had gone out all night together, which just happened to be Greg’s bachelor party. He wouldn’t stop complaining the next day (which served him right in all fairness, Mycroft had warned him).  
“Yes, well, perhaps that was for the best.” Mycroft planted a kiss on Greg’s cheek before standing up. “I have some work to finish, but I’ll come join you when I’m done, alright?”  
“Alright.” Greg muttered, sucking beer from his bottle again, not looking up as Mycroft left the room for his study. He examined the label on the bottle and sighed, draining it before getting to his feet and making his way up the stairs for a shower.

***

“Myc?”  
“What is it Gregory?”  
“I had an idea.”  
“And what was…” Mycroft trailed off as he looked up and saw a dripping wet Greg in the doorway of his study, towel hung loosely around his hips. “Oh.” He swallowed, trying to stop his eyes from dragging over his husband and failing, licking his lips. Over the past months Mycroft had got off Greg various times and Greg had insisted that he’d give him something in return but he’d merely shrugged it off. Now he realised just how long it had been and his mouth went dry as Greg stepped closer to him. Mycroft could already feel his cock stirring in his trousers and he shook his head. The effect the man had on him was ridiculous.  
“I think you need to stop working.” Greg murmured, slinking over and shutting the top of Mycroft’s laptop. He nodded in response, getting up slowly and walking around the desk. The DI grabbed a hold of his tie and pulled him to him, growling under his breath. “Upstairs. Now.” He relinquished his hold and Mycroft smirked, stepping past him and making his way up the stairs. Greg followed soon after, taking his time and pulling free his towel, using it to soak up most of the water from his hair, smirking at Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed. He threw the towel onto the chair in the corner of the room and moved over to the bed, straddling Mycroft’s lap, knees on either side of his thighs.  
“I wanted to thank you properly, for everything you’ve done.” Greg whispered, cupping Mycroft’s face in his hands before brushing their lips together. He kept it gentle for a second before flicking his tongue over Mycroft’s lip and smiled when he was granted access, delving his tongue into his mouth and curling it around the politician’s. Shifting closer slightly, Greg tilted his head and deepened the kiss, mewling with delight when he felt Mycroft start to let go of his worry and kiss him back hungrily, hips canting up towards him for friction. He slid his hand down Mycroft’s neck to his waistcoat, undoing the buttons carefully before flinging it onto the floor, his shirt following soon after.  
“God… Gregory…” Mycroft’s eyes fluttered shut as he was pushed onto his back, lips trailing down his neck, tongue darting out to lave his pulse point in just the way that had him writhing and growling for more. Greg smirked and nipped the skin lightly before sliding down to Mycroft’s chest, sucking and lapping at each nipple in turn, paying the other attention with his fingers, twisting and rubbing them. Mycroft bit his lip and arched his back, moaning under his breath, drawing in ragged breaths as he heard the rest of his clothes join the pile on the floor. “Fuckyes” He growled as Greg’s hand enclosed the base of his cock, pumping it a few times before his lips locking around the tip of it, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing down the pre-come leaking onto his tongue.   
“J-j-jesus Gregory!” Mycroft gasped as the DI bobbed down further onto his prick, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. He fisted his hands in the sheets, his hips thrusting up and making Greg gag, who then pulled back and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Before he could take Mycroft back into his mouth he was pulled in for a searing kiss, Mycroft rolling over and pressing him into the mattress. Greg grunted against his lips and looped his arms around Mycroft’s waist, moans meeting moans as they rutted their cocks against each other until Mycroft pulled away, scrabbling for the drawer and pulling out the bottle of lube. Unconciously, Greg licked his lips, eyes darkening as he watched Mycroft set down the bottle within reach, leaning up on his hands to watch as his husbands tongue traced around his opening. His mouth fell open in a guttural moan as Mycroft wormed his tongue in past the first ring of muscle, hands fisting in his hair.  
“Fucking hell that tongue Myc…” Greg murmured, arching his hips in an attempt to get the younger man’s tongue deeper inside him. Mycroft chuckled throatily before forcing it further in, Greg crying out as it began stretching him open, swears streaming from his mouth. Mycroft’s hand found its way to his cock and began stroking him slowly in time with his tongue, the DI writhing on the bed, nearly begging for more friction.   
When he was satisfied, Mycroft pulled back and grabbed the bottle of lube, slicking up three fingers and licking Greg’s slightly stretched entrance before sliding his middle finger in easily, twisting and pumping it. “Shitshitshitshityes!” Greg whimpered under his breath, bringing up his hand and biting down on his knuckle as Mycroft pressed kisses up the underside of his prick, carefully pushing in a second finger. He gasped and screwed his eyes shut when he felt Mycroft’s fingers brush his prostate, head falling back on the bed.  
“Th-there… again…” Greg grit out, moaning Mycroft’s name when he ghosted over it again, scissoring his fingers and stretching Greg as far as he could before adding a third. Unable to contain himself, Greg’s speech became garbled as he began to beg. “Fuck me now Myc, please, oh G-god I need you inside me!” The Holmes brother nodded and stretched his fingers a few more times before pulling them out and climbing up to kiss Greg again, cock bumping against his opening. “Now…” He breathed, Mycroft biting his jaw softly as he eased into him, groaning into his skin. Greg hissed slightly and panted a few times, Mycroft cupping his cheek and tilting his head to look into his eyes.  
“Are you alright?” Mycroft asked, worried. Smiling in response, Greg nodded, leaning up to kiss Mycroft softly.   
“I love you.”  
“I love you too.” The younger man whispered in return, pulling out of Greg and snapping back in, grunting with pleasure. The kiss quickly became heated again as Mycroft’s thrusts became harder and quicker, pounding into Greg with wild abandon. The DI was crying out and clawing down Mycroft’s back, whimpering as his neglected cock strained for attention.  
“M-my-“ He started, but was cut off as a hand was wrapped around his prick, pumping it quickly, Mycroft shifting his thrusts to hit Greg’s prostate. His cries became incoherent as heat began coiling in his stomach, hips meeting each of Mycroft’s thrusts.  
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” Mycroft pulled out of the kiss to gasp against Greg’s neck, thrusts becoming irregular.  
“I… so fucking close.” Greg mumbled, mouth falling open as his climax washed over him, spilling over Mycroft’s hand, yelling his name. He slumped against the bed, contracting around Mycroft’s cock, sending him into completion.  
“Gregory…!” Mycroft groaned filthily, thrusting in a few final times, emptying his seed into Greg and releasing his prick to use both hands to hold himself up. Both men stayed still for a second, panting before Mycroft kissed Greg sweetly, pulling out his softening cock. “I’ll go get a towel love.” He murmured, wandering over to the bathroom and getting a damp towel. The blissful look on Greg’s face made Mycroft laugh as he set about cleaning them both up.  
“Mmm?” Greg craned his neck to look at Mycroft, still only half aware of proceedings; though enough awareness to purve on Mycroft’s arse.   
“Nothing love.” He chucked the towel onto the pile of clothes before crawling up and pulling Greg into his arms, slipping the duvet over them both. The older man huffed contently, nuzzling into his chest.  
“Love you.” He mumbled, trying to draw even closer to the man. Mycroft threaded his fingers in Greg’s silver hair, biting his lip in concentration. “Myc?” Greg looked up at the man groggily.   
“Sorry, I was just thinking.”  
“What about?” He began to trace circles into Mycroft’s chest with his fingers, lightly kissing his collarbone. The younger man looked over Greg, closing his eyes and swallowing.  
“Gregory, how would you feel about adoption?” The DI’s face lit up and he leaned up to kiss Mycroft.  
“Fantastic! Uh… I mean, only if you want to…”  
“Of course I want to, why else would I bring it up?” Greg let the words sink in for a moment before question Mycroft.  
“You really want to?”  
“Of course.”  
“We can look at adoption?” The elder Holmes nodded and Greg giggled excitedly, winding his arms tight around Mycroft, kissing him again.  
“I’m glad you want to.”   
“I’ve always wanted kids, I just never knew how to bring it up.” Mycroft silenced him with a kiss and stroked his cheek softly.  
“I’ll look into it.” He murmured, beaming. “But for now, get some sleep.” Greg nodded and cuddled into Mycroft’s chest, closing his eyes, unsure how he was going to manage to sleep when he felt like a child on Christmas Eve.

***

A month later and Mycroft had the adoption papers. He’d held onto them for a week, waiting for the right time to surprise Greg. But now that he was nearly fully recovered, he was being called away to work a lot more, and so was Mycroft.  
But it was Saturday evening and he knew Greg would be down from his shower soon; it was as good a chance as any. He had them folded behind his back and he waited in the living room, flicking through the channels, his leg jiggling as he tried to contain his excitement.  
“Yeah. Yeah, alright. Do NOT let him touch anything. Right, okay bye.” Something was wrong. Mycroft looked up at the doorframe and felt his heart sink when he saw Greg pulling on his coat.  
“Work?” He asked, trying not to look dejected.  
“Yeah. Sorry, I know you wanted to spend tonight together.” Greg rubbed his eyes and walked in, kissing Mycroft chastely and cupping his cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.” Mycroft smiled sadly, stowing away the papers again and pulling Greg into a hug.   
“I look forward to it.” He muttered, unwilling to let go, watching Greg walk out and sighing, retrieving the papers and taking them back to his study, hiding them away in the bottom drawer. “There’ll always be another time.” He rubbed his eyes before flopping down in his chair and opening his laptop, looking for work that needed to be done. 

***

“SHERLOCK.” Greg hissed, pulling out his handgun and clasping it securely in his hands. The consulting detective had given chase when he’d first spotted the suspect, John trailing after them. Unfortunately, Greg wasn’t as fit as he used to be and had managed to lose sight of both of them as he wandered down the alleyway, torch in one hand, aiming down it. He squinted into the darkness, calling out again. “John??” No such luck. There was no way he was going to find the murderer like this. He reached the end of the alley and looked down the road at the end, hoping for a glimpse of tall, dark and annoying. Greg called for Sherlock again and stood up straighter when he heard a response. He turned down the road in the direction of the voice, holding out his gun in case it wasn’t in fact someone friendly.   
“Lestrade!” Sherlock careered around the corner, sprinting towards him and Greg sighed in relief, lowering his gun and stepping towards Sherlock. He flinched when a powerful set of headlights came on behind Sherlock and raised his gun again, backing away. It was the suspect again, and on what Greg thought was a motorbike.  
“Police! Please stop your vehicle or I will shoot!” He yelled as the bike spurred into action, speeding after Sherlock. “This is your last warning!” Greg lifted the gun and aimed it at the suspect, who was quickly gaining on Sherlock. He waited until his brother-in-law was clear before sending bullets in the direction of the bike, piercing the front tire and the windscreen, a few driving into the rider. The bike swerved and Greg tried to turn quickly and run, but he misjudged the angle on his leg, instead turning and falling forward. He saw the horror on Sherlock’s face before the bike collided with him and the world went black.

***

This time Greg looked exactly how Mycroft had imagined. Battered and broken and wired up to various machines to keep him functioning. Last time his coma had been induced. Now they weren’t sure when he’d wake up. Or if he even would.  
“Gregory…” Mycroft’s voice cracked as he took in his husband’s state. The doctor’s had said that the bike had shattered most of the bones on his right side. It was a miracle he was still alive. He sat down and laced his fingers with Greg’s, biting back the tears when he didn’t feel them squeeze back. “Please…” Mycroft whispered. “Please come back to me.”  
And the days passed. Mycroft would dutifully be by his bedside every second that he didn’t spend working. He began to neglect himself, becoming thinner and paler. Sherlock tried to get him to eat but he only glared with what little energy he had and told him to ‘get out’. Anthea had voiced her concern, but Mycroft had threatened with lifelong unemployment.   
A month passed. The doctor’s told him that waiting was near enough pointless. They asked him to let them turn off the machine’s. He didn’t answer them, merely stared at the shell of Greg, waiting for them to leave. “Gregory, I don’t know what I’m doing without you.” And in that moment, Mycroft had never felt so vulnerable. He’d taken the wedding ring from Greg’s finger and clasped it in his hand before pressing his lips to his husband’s a final time. “I love you. I’m sorry.” He whispered before pushing his chair out and exiting the room, looking at the doctor still waiting outside. “Do it.”

***

Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to say anything at the funeral. He’d sat next to his mother, staring as they lowered the coffin into the ground, numbness creeping through him. She’d tried her best to console him, telling him what he was like for her when she lost his father. He nodded along, plastering on his practiced smile and thanking her for his help.  
That night, the house was the emptiest it’d ever been. He’d stood in the hallway for what had seemed like hours, unsure what to do with himself, not even switching the light on. Mycroft stared into the darkness, waiting for Greg to walk in the front door and switch on the light. He’d laugh because he was standing there and make some comment about how he could at least make himself useful. The politician swallowed when he felt the ghost of his arms around his waist. He shook off the feeling, emptiness running through him, stemming from his heart. He needed to get out of his own head. So he did the only thing he knew how to. Mycroft walked into his study, sat behind his desk and began to work. He worked through the entire night and didn’t even pause before he saw sunlight flitting in through the window. He sighed desolately and looked at the stack of paper he’d completed, running his hands through his hair. Mycroft shook his head and opened the last drawer, blood running cold when he saw the contents.  
“Oh Gregory…” He whimpered softly and pulled the adoption papers out, spreading them in front of him. Mycroft had already signed them. Greg had never had the chance to… “No.” He wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over before picking up the papers and ripping them in half.  
And half again.  
And he kept ripping until all that was left was tiny shreds of paper strewn over the desk.  
Because everything that mattered to him always ended up leaving him that way.

 

Broken.


End file.
